Crazy Good
by DeepSouthContest
Summary: An entry for the Deep South Contest: "It's hard to get revenge and keep a spotless reputation."


**Title**: **Crazy Good**_ – An entry for the Deep South Contest_

**Pairing**: Bella/Edward

**Rating**: M

**Genre:** Romance/Humor

**Word Count:** 9,877

**Location:** Texas

**Summary**: "It's hard to get revenge and keep a spotless reputation."

**Disclaimer**: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

"Mama," I grumble into the receiver of the old dilapidated phone, "Daddy won't let me out!"

"Baby, I know this is hard. Believe me when I say that this is harder on me than it is on you, and let's not even get into what your daddy's goin' through," she replies, with a deep sigh into her end of the phone.

I can picture her sitting there in Daddy's chair, since he's here at the police station with me. I'm sure she has her housecoat on and she's probably watching her soap operas which she taped earlier today. And when I say "taped", I mean "taped". She and Daddy have yet to catch up with the times and invest in a damned DVR. I've tried and tried to talk them into it, but I always get the same response—the response they give to any modern technology . . . _new fandangled_ . . . _contraption_ . . . _alien spies_.

I still suffer from second-hand embarrassment that they believe in all that Area 51 shit.

"Mama," I plead once more, trying my damndest to work up some legitimate tears, but I'm sad to say, I'm all cried out.

"You've made your bed, now you're just gonna have to lie in it." Mama's voice takes on the no-nonsense tone she uses when dealing with me or my daddy, especially when we're not doing what she wants us to do.

When she hangs up the phone, I feel defeated . . . and out of hope. She was my one phone call.

"Did she hang up on ya?" My daddy's face is serious, but I see a small twitch under his thick mustache. I know he's getting a lot of pleasure out of seeing me behind these bars,knowing that I've already used my get-out-of-jail-free card one too many times.

Looks like it's just me and this flimsy mattress.

"Can I get ya somethin' to eat, maybe some water to drink?"

I glance at the corner and the pot that's in here to piss in and cringe. To hell with that! I'll starve first.

"No, thank you," I huff, with as much menace as I can muster.

"Bella, now you know that this is—" he starts.

"Hurting you more than it's hurting me?" I interrupt. "Yeah, I already know."

_And I call bullshit._

Funny thing is that most of my anger is not directed at the man peering at me through the metal bars, it's the copper-haired, green-eyed one sitting at the corner desk, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

"I don't really see what the big deal is, anyway?" I ask, mostly to myself, but to anyone else who wants to listen.

When there's no response from the peanut gallery, I continue with my rhetorical questions . . . and my crazy, which I've apparently perfected over the last six months.

"Who says it's a sin to drive a truck into a pond?

"The last I heard, this was a free country. Seems to me that I should be able to park a vehicle wherever I see fit." Now, the part of me that's sane knows that I shouldn't have driven that truck into the water; but the part of me that's crazy thinks, "_why the hell not?_"

"I don't think it's a sin, but it _is_ against the law, Ma'am," the copper-haired, green-eyed deputy says from the corner.

"Don't call me "ma'am"," I snap, as I slide down the cold, hard wall onto the even colder, harder floor. The least he could've done was let me go home and put some different clothes on, but noooooo! Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes had to bring me directly in.

"_Sheriff's orders._"

No passing go.

No collecting $200.

Just straight to jail.

I've always fucking hated Monopoly. It takes too damned long to play and my cousin Emmett cheats like a Kennedy.

With nothing left to do and no one left to call, I pull myself up from the floor and flop down onto the thin mattress. When I get outta here, I'm gonna suggest that the beds here get an upgrade, just in case I find myself in another predicament like this, which is completely likely.

I'm not sure how to explain it. I know when I'm doing something wrong and, believe me, I know the law—but I get in this crazy frame of mind and there isn't a lick of reason to be found. I just do whatever I feel like doing at the time, and hope to hell I don't get caught.

"Jake," I hear Charlie say from behind the desk in the office next to the jail cell, frustration lacing his voice. _Fucking Jake._ This is all his fault. I roll over and face the wall. "Listen, this is Chief Swan and I'm calling to let you know you can pick up your truck from Bart. It's a little wet under the hood, but I'm sure it'll run just fine. If you have any problems with it, I'll pick up the tab. And, uh...whatever you do, I don't wanna catch you around Bella's—ever again." There's a pause and I'm sure, if I could see through the wall, he's probably sitting there smoothing down the edges of his mustache. He does that when he's either thinking or mad. "That's an order, son." The phone hangs up loudly. I hear Charlie's desk chair creak and moan as he emits a loud sigh.

Reaching my hand out, I put it up to the wall.

Even when I fuck up, he's still on my side. The gesture makes my eyes burn with unshed tears and my throat hurts as the telltale lump forms, lodging itself there and refusing to budge. With my back turned to the bars, I allow myself to cry, letting out all of the built-up frustration from the day . . . from Jake . . . from his stupid baby-mama whore . . . from getting caught . . . from Charlie sticking up for me, even though he doesn't have to . . . from my Mama leaving me in here to sleep in the bed, because I made it or some shit like that—all of it comes out in the form of silent, hot tears that soak my face and my hair, all the way down to the flimsy mattress.

My mind begins to wander off into the black abyss that it so often goes to, especially at night. I see flashes of scenes, bits of conversation—revenge—until I eventually fall into a restless sleep filled with vivid images.

-CG-

I feel my body slip from unconsciousness to consciousness. For a moment, I can't remember where I am or even what day it is. My eyes are burning, even with my lids still closed and I'm afraid to open them. I don't want to talk to anybody or for anyone to see the bloodshot eyeballs or tear-streaked face. The last thing I need is for one more person to give me a look of pity. I'm pretty sure it was that exact thing that sent me over the edge yesterday.

_Shit!_

Yesterday—which was when I'd driven the last possession of Jake's, that was still at my house, off into Mr. Miller's pond!

A warm hand touches my shoulder, and I feel someone walk up and stand beside the bed. There's also a blanket pulled up to my shoulders; I know when I'd gone to sleep, there had only been me, my cut-off denim shorts, sleeveless shirt, and a mattress.

"Bells," my dad says softly.

"Go away," I demand, forcing my voice not to shake.

"You . . . you were crying in your sleep," he whispers.

"Bad dream."

"You wanna talk about it?" he asks.

"No," I answer flatly. He pats my shoulder and leaves me be without saying another word. I hear the clang of the jail cell shutting behind him.

I know deep down he means well, but the last thing I need is another lecture about how I'm supposed to act, or how I'm supposed to put a smile on my face and get on with my life. Fuck that! They have no idea how mortifying it is to be the girl who couldn't keep her guy satisfied, so he ran out and slept with the biggest whore in town and knocked her up. They have no fucking idea. You can't keep that shit from getting out. Everybody knows. And no one wants to experience that kind of humiliation and heartbreak in public, especially not in a town like this.

Around these parts, Jacob Black can do no wrong. It's always been that way, ever since we were kids. He was always the team captain, the spelling bee winner, the class president, and, eventually, the star of our small town—quarterback of our football team. After finishing college and taking over his daddy's business, marrying me was next on his list of accomplishments. Those ladies in my mama's quilting circle at church had us betrothed before we were knee-high to a grasshopper. Everybody knew that Jake and I would get married one day. I _wanted_ to marry him. He was my best friend. The only boy I'd ever kissed. The only guy I'd ever been with. He was _it_ for me.

But, apparently, I wasn't _it_ for him.

We'd been married five years, when the first crack appeared in our perfect life—we tried to to have a baby. It didn't happen on the first try, or the second. Actually, we'd been trying for six months when the shit hit the fan. Jake wasn't used to failing. It infuriated him that for once in his life, something didn't come easy to him. I had an appointment to see a specialist in the city, but I never quite made it. That was the week I had a cancellation at the bakery and came home early one afternoon.

The afternoon my world fell apart . . . and I went off the deep end.

_Psychotic episodes._

_Unstable._

_Maybe she needs medication?_

I've heard all the whispers and snide comments. I know what people think of me. I know they blame _me_ for Jake's mistakes. There's no way that their All-American boy could fuck things up this royally, right? No, it had to be me. I'm the one who was the fuck-up.

The way people look at me when I'm in town makes me feel like a stranger. It's the way they look at out-of-towners, or people they don't trust. Even my mama had given me a talk on acting like a lady . . . keeping it together.

"I've raised you better," she says. "Isabella Marie, you've got to get a grip!"

Since she knew it would cause me to completely flip the fuck out, she only used my first and middle name; but it was enough to let me know I was on her shit list, which also coincides with her prayer list.

I don't really care what people are saying or what they think of me. I know the truth and I can't explain why I've been doing all the crazy things I've been doing. I just know that with each piece of clothing that I burn, and each vehicle I dump into Mr. Miller's pond, I feel better . . . like a little piece of myself is coming back. I want Jake to feel what I feel, to hurt like I hurt, but that's impossible. The damage is already done; and now, even if I went out and fucked the whole town, I'd still be the one with the broken heart.

The first night my daddy arrested me was the night I was standing outside of Jake's new house. I'd been sleeping and had one of my nightmares or whatever you want to call it, and I decided that if _I_ couldn't sleep, then neither should he. So, I went over there. In my fluffy pink house slippers and my plaid pajama bottoms from Christmas, I stood in Jake's front yard and yelled out every feeling I'd pent up inside me . . . the hate, the betrayal, the disgust. I just let it all out. Before the neighbors had called the cops, I remember feeling completely exhausted and laying down in the cool grass because it felt good on my hot cheeks.

The liquid courage I drank prior to going over there probably hadn't helped the situation.

Even though I landed myself in jail that night, I felt better.

A week later, I took all of Jake's clothes, that he'd yet to come and get—because he was a chicken shit—and piled them up in the driveway and lit the sons of bitches on fire.

Apparently, the Homeowner's Association frowns on fires in the driveway.

"_All fires must be contained in a fire pit, fireplace, or grill_," Mike Newton had said. Is this still the fucking south? Can't people burn shit if they want to? Damn! I never wanted to live in this hoity toity neighborhood in the first place. It was all Jake's idea. He wanted the big fancy house and four cars, because two just wasn't good enough. It wasn't a case of keeping up with the Joneses, we _were_ the Joneses.

That time, I only received a citation and a hefty fine of two hundred and fifty dollars, which initiated my next run-in with the law. I figured that since all of this was Jake's fault in the first place, he should have to pay my fine. So, while he and the missus were at work one day, I broke in the back door of his new house and stole his pride and joy, an autographed football from the University of Alabama National Championship team.

Rammer jammer, my ass! I'd like to have rammed that football up Jake's ass, but instead, I hocked it.

I know all of these predicaments, as my mama likes to call them, make me sound like what everyone says—crazy, unstable, scorned—but the truth is that at the time of each incident, my actions seemed completely logical. I'm not even mad anymore, really, just hurt. But I'm not hurt because I lost Jake. I don't even want my old life back. I'm just sorry that I wasted all those years putting Jake on a pedestal like every other person in this town, because he didn't deserve it.

The metal bars rattle as they're being opened.

"Chief said I could let you go at noon."

I roll over and look up to see the new deputy standing in the open doorway of the cell. He rubs his hand on the back of his neck and I can tell from his bloodshot eyes that he must have been up all night.

"He said your truck is parked out front and the keys are on the floorboard."

I grunt, showing my acknowledgement, and slowly pull myself up to a sitting position. I need a toothbrush, a real toilet, and a shower.

-CG-

Today's the day. The divorce is final. I won't ever have to look at Jake's face again, if I choose not to, and that feels good. I feel like celebrating.

I contemplate calling someone to go with me, but most of the people I know have either joined Team Jake or have claimed they're Switzerland and refused to choose sides, which means they're on Jake's team—the few people who actually _are _on my team would never be caught dead in a bar.

I'm more than certain my mama and daddy would frown on this choice of celebration, but one thing I've learned since all this shit went down is that from here on out, I'm doing things _my_ way. Operation: Make Bella Happy. If _I_ don't, who will? I've let my happiness reside in Jake for the last ten years, since I was fifteen years old, but not anymore. This is the first time in my life where I truly feel like I don't have to answer to anybody—not my mama, or my daddy, or Jake. It's liberating.

So, I'm going to Old Town. It's not usually my scene, but it's exactly what I need tonight—drinks, music, and low-lighting, so I don't have to see any of the looks I get when I walk in and sit down at the bar.

I go to pick up my keys off the counter as I'm heading out the door, but I know good and well that I won't be in any shape to drive home. Standing in the kitchen, I weigh my options for a minute. I could drive and just risk it, but that would be really irresponsible, and might just land me in jail for good this time. My daddy does not fool around when it comes to drinking and driving. I could walk there, but I know I'd be stumbling home, and who knows what could happen in the mile from there to here. I pick up the phone and dial my only logical option.

"Is this Bella the Burner, or is this Bella the Ball Buster, _or_ . . ." he asks, pausing for dramatic effect, "is it possible that I'm talkin' to the one and only Bella the Beautiful?"

"Always the charmer, Em," I reply, rolling my eyes.

"Well, well, well. I hear congratulations are in order," he says, his voice depicting his pleasure in my current marital status. "Proud of you, Bells. Really."

"Thanks, Em. I'm not sure everyone feels the same, but—"

"It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. It's not your fault and you did the right thing. Don't doubt that. So, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"You remember that favor you promised me?"

"Of course, what's up, buttercup?"

"I was wonderin' if I could get a ride?"

"Is somethin' wrong with your truck? Don't tell me you parked_ it_ in Mr. Miller's pond, too? Just 'cause Jake paid for it doesn't mean you gotta go ruinin' a perfectly good pickup."

"I didn't . . . the truck's fine," I answer, breathing out deeply, realizing I'm never going to live down most of the shit I've done in the last six months. "I just need a ride to Old Town."

"Ah, Bella. I don't feel good about this," he whines. "Rose'll kick my ass when she finds out, and she _will_ find out! Nobody gossips like the barflies and the baptists."

"I'd do it for you! Besides, if you don't take me, I'll just drive myself."

"And wind yer ass up in jail!" I can almost hear him from here pacing the floor, and I feel bad for putting him in this situation—really I do, but I have no other choice.

"Why you wanna go there anyway?"

"I feel like celebratin'. Besides, I'm a free woman! I can go and do as I please!"

"I'll be there in five minutes," he says, giving in and hanging up.

Ten minutes later, Emmett drops me off in front of Old Town. Fortunately for me and him, it's dark, but he's still scoping out the perimeter, making sure nobody sees him.

"Em, just tell Rose. You'll worry yourself sick over her findin' out, if you don't." I reach over and squeeze his big, burly arm. For such a big guy, he sure is a pussy sometimes. "Tell her it's my fault and she can come over tomorrow and pray over me or give me shit or whatever, OK?"

His eyes grow big and he gives me a look, as if he can't believe I just gave Rosalie McCarty permission to unleash her wrath on me . . . it's almost worse than God's.

"Promise me you'll call when you're ready to leave," he says.

"OK, I will. Thanks, again," I say, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "And, I'm sorry if I get you in trouble."

"Wouldn't be the first time," he says, laughing and shaking his head.

Nope, it wouldn't' be the first time and I'm pretty sure it won't be the last. Emmett and I are known for getting each other in and out of trouble.

"You know I'd go in with you, if it weren't for . . ." His words trail off, as he makes hand gestures of the ways Rosalie would kill him, if he did.

"I know," I tell him, smiling as I shut the door.

When I sit down at the bar, the old man working behind the counter gives me the once-over, until he realizes who I am. I see the hesitation on his face and I wonder if Charlie's put out some sort of warning or some shit like that.

I slap my credit card down on the table. "Start me a tab, keep your mouth shut, and I'll make sure you get a nice tip at the end of the night, OK?"

Four Shiner Bocks and three shots of whiskey later, I'm feeling no pain as I belt out the words to "Me and Bobby McGee" from my barstool. I know my rhythm is off and my words are slurred but I'm on a roll, and don't plan on stopping any time soon. I try my best to mimic Janis' gravelly ramblings at the end of the song, waving my arms and gyrating my hips so wildly that I end up falling flat on my ass.

I'm not sure how long I stay down but, eventually, my drunken stupor clears long enough for me to register that I no longer want to be on the filthy floor of a bar. Of course, nobody helps me up, but they all make sure to watch me as I slowly pull both myself and my toppled barstool upright. The snickers and whispers don't penetrate the wall around my heart, but since I'm feeling ten feet tall and bulletproof, I spin around to face my audience, both of my middle fingers high in the air.

"Fuck all of you—you inbred, hick cock-suckers!"

"All right, that's enough, Mrs. Black! I think it's time I take you home."

Spinning around too quickly, I stumble right into my daddy's new deputy.

"Oh, this is just great! Does my daddy have you watchin' me 24/7 or somethin'?"

"No, Ma'am. I was called out to escort an unruly patron home, so if you'd please grab your things, we'll be on our way."

I'm still feeling a little dizzy but I'm not sure if it's from all the booze in my system or Mr. Deputy's pretty green eyes. Either way, I'm not leaving this bar with him. When he holds out his hand, I immediately swat it away.

"I'm not going anywhere with you! Besides, my name isn't _'Mrs. Black'_ anymore, it's 'Ms. Swan' again. As of today, I'm officially divorced!" I yell out to anyone who cares, which I know is none.

I see Mr. Deputy giving me a small frown, pity written all over his gorgeous face, and I hate him. Rolling my eyes, I turn to the bartender and motion for another beer.

"I don't think so, Ms. Swan. It's time to go."

"Piss off!"

"Ma'am, it's my job to get you home safely. Please, be civil about this. Otherwise, I'm gonna have to cuff you."

"Ha! It wouldn't be the first time I've been cuffed!"

"Yes, I'm aware of your criminal history and I really don't want to add to it, so be a good girl and let's go."

I look at him with fire in my eyes as I slowly walk up to him. I can feel heat radiating from his body, but I ignore it. I do _not_ want this kind of distraction right now so, instead, I start poking his chest.

"Don't you _ever_ tell me to be a good girl! I was always the good girl and look where it got me! I don't need your condescending attitude, Mr. Deputy Man! I get that from everyone else in this hell-hole, so you can just kiss my ass!" I've poked him about twenty times by now and he's taken every one of them, only showing his frustration by clenching his jaw. For some reason, I want more of a reaction from him, so what do I do? I shove him. Hard. Once he's over the initial shock of my actions, he quickly spins me around and shackles my wrists together in his handy-dandy handcuffs, before picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder.

Needing someone else to lash out at, my upside-down eyes find the old coot of a bartender and yell, "This is all your fault, you rotten dirt-bag! You're not ever gettin' a tip from me!" He just shrugs his shoulders, before handing my credit card and purse over to my captor.

Chicken shit.

I'm unceremoniously dumped into the front seat of the deputy's patrol car before my handcuffs are removed. Knowing I need to keep my trap shut and just accept the ride home, I fold my arms across my chest, slumping down into full-on tantrum mode.

When Officer Goody Two-Shoes takes his place behind the wheel, he turns to me with a serious face. "Look, Ms. Swan, I know you're upset because of your divorce being finalized today, but I can't, in good conscience, let you keep drowning your sorrows. At the rate you were going, you'd just end up back in that jail cell, and I know you don't want that."

"For your information, I'm not _drownin' my sorrows_, I'm celebratin'! I'm glad to be rid of that pencil-dicked asshole! It's a shame that no one around here knows how to have fun, Mr—what the hell is your name anyway?"

"Edward. My name's Edward Cullen."

"Hmpf, 'Edward'? Not Ed or Eddie or any other kind of nickname? Every good southerner has a nickname, you know?"

He gives me a quiet laugh and seeing his eyes crinkle when he smiles makes my heart race.

"I'm just Edward and I'm from Chicago, so no nickname for me."

"Well, I guess I'll have to give you one myself," I slur, just before leaning against the door and passing out.

-CG-

The incessant banging in my head reminds me of why you don't mix beer and liquor. What's that saying?

_Beer before liquor, never sicker?_

_Liquor before beer, you're in the clear?_

Oh, God, I can't remember, but whatever it is, I need this banging to stop! _Please God, I'll never drink again, if you'll just make the banging stop!_

God must still be talking to me, because out of the blue, the banging goes away only to be replaced with a high-pitch yell that sounds a lot like Rosalie . . . hell. Fucking hell! I must be in hell.

"Isabella Swan!"

I would rather my mama be here right now instead of Rosalie. She's mean and bossy and she hates drunk people.

Two seconds later, the blinds of my two bedroom windows are ripped open and I peek out of one eye to see perfectly-coiffed blonde hair sitting on top of a sasquatch that looks like it swallowed a basketball.

"What the hell, Rose?" I whine, my voice coming out gritty. Somehow it sounds exactly like it tastes—thick and hairy. I need to brush my teeth and scrape the fur off my tongue.

"Language!" Rose exclaims, holding the sides of her protruding stomach, like her unborn child just heard me say "hell", which is in the Bible, so it doesn't even count.

"Fuck!" I moan, rolling over and covering my eyes.

"Bella! Are you trying to send me into early labor?" she gasps. "What has gotten into you?"

"Nobody, lately," I answer.

"Lord, she does not mean the things she says," Rose says, praying on my behalf. "Tell Him you don't mean the things you say!"

"Stop it, Rose! You sound like my mama!"

"Why on earth were you at . . . _the bar?_" she asks, whispering the last part like someone's going to overhear. "Bella, if you need someone to talk to—or better yet, pray with you—I'm always here," she says, sitting down beside me on the bed. "No judging or anything," she says solemnly.

She softly brushes the hair off my forehead. She really does mean well.

"I know. And, I'm sorry if I got Emmett into trouble. It wasn't his fault that I went to the bar. I woulda gone regardless."

"I know. You've always been so stubborn and pig-headed, but it's one of the things I've always admired about you."

I sit straight up in bed and manage to open both eyes. "Did you just say _you_ admired something about _me_?" Rosalie doesn't envy anyone; she's the envy _of_ everyone. If it weren't for her being in so tight with the Big Guy, she'd probably flaunt that fact a lot more, but pride comes before the fall and all that shit.

"Hush. There are many things I admire about you," she says, swatting at me.

"Do tell!" I say, eagerly.

"No, I'm still mad at you," she says, turning to the side and crossing her arms over her belly.

"I'm sorry, Rose. How can I make it up to you?" I ask, knowing it's better to pay my penance now than to have Rose mad at me for the next month.

Turning back around, her face is glowing, as she smiles from ear to ear. "Say you'll come to the church picnic with me!"

"Not the church picnic! Anything besides that! Please!" I beg.

"You wouldn't deny a pregnant woman this one simple wish, would you? Besides, you just asked how you can make things up to me and that's my answer—church picnic." Her arms cross and her face goes back to the pout from a moment earlier. Damn, she's good.

"Fine."

She squeals and hugs me so tightly that I'm afraid I'm going to throw up all over her pretty pink dress.

"OK," she says, standing up, "I'll see you tomorrow!" She barely makes it out of my bedroom, before she pops her head back in. "Oh and you really should think about coming to church. I know your mama would love to see you there."

I roll my eyes and it only makes my head hurt worse.

"Oh, and wear a dress!" she yells back, as she's heading out the front door.

Looking down, I take inventory and realize that my shoes are off, but other than that, I'm still wearing the clothes I wore to the bar. I know my daddy worked last night, and there's no way my mama could carry me to bed, so that leaves . . . what's his name? _Edgar?_ _Shit!_ I'm really going to have a hard time facing him now. You'd think I'd be used to embarrassing myself, but apparently, I'm not.

-CG-

Stepping out of the truck, a warm breeze catches the bottom of my dress and I stop it just before it soars over my head. As I turn around, I make sure no one saw what just happened and quietly cuss the blasted wind and Rose for making me wear a dress in the first place.

Trucks and cars are lined up in rows out in the pasture, just a half mile from the church. I spot my daddy's truck, surprised that he's not driving the police car today. Mama must have insisted that they have a "normal family day".

"_No guns or police chases, Charles!_"

I've heard that my whole life.

Everyone is congregating under a big white tent, but there are blankets scattered out in the deep green grass surrounding it, where they've staked their claim for the afternoon. As I walk closer, I can hear the reverend greeting everyone and asking them to bow their heads in prayer.

Stopping just short of the crowd, I do as he asks, and listen to him thank the Lord for good health and the rain we got last week, and asking Him to bless the food we're about to eat.

"Amen."

"Nice to see you still remember how to pray." I hear the smooth voice of my father in my right ear, a little mirth behind his words.

"Stop it, Daddy," I say, swatting blindly behind me and making contact with his arm.

"Don't make me have to take ya in for assaultin' an old man," he jokes. "It really is good to see ya, Bells. And you sure do look pretty in that dress. You're gonna make your mama one happy lady today."

I glance beside me to see his mustache twitch as he smiles underneath it.

"Well, it's far too nice of a day to be cooped up inside," I say, smoothing my dress down in the front.

"Uh, huh. I hear you also had some smoothin' over to do with a Mrs. McCarty, who looks like she's comin' this way," he says, turning my shoulders to see Rose making a beeline for us. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I hear some fried chicken callin' my name."

"Chicken shit," I whisper, just before he gets out of earshot.

"What was that?" Rose asks, saddling up beside me and winding her arm through mine.

"Uh, I was just sayin' that chicken smells good!"

"Well, good, because I fried up plenty! Emmett found us a nice shady spot over by the tree. Let's hurry, before he eats it all!"

We say hello to people as we make our way through the tent and over to the large oak. I don't miss the side-eyes and whispers directed my way. Thankfully, I remembered my big girl panties, so I just smile and nod, not letting them get to me.

Rose wasn't lying when she said she made plenty. Emmett already has three chicken leg bones on his plate when we walk up.

"Bells!" he exclaims, wiping his hands on a pretty, paisley napkin, before standing up to hug me. "Fancy meetin' you here," he says, winking at me. I have a few choice words for him, but I'll save them for another time. I'm not pissing Rose off today. Next thing you know, she'll have me at her weekly prayer meeting or something.

Rose and I fix our plates and make ourselves comfortable on the blanket. The fried chicken is delicious. I could have used a few pieces of this yesterday. Anything fried is great hangover food. Fortunately, I'm feeling better today.

After we eat, the three of us fall into comfortable conversation, reminiscing about old times and talking about the future. I can't wait to become an aunt. Emmett isn't my brother, but he's the closest thing I have to one, and I fully intend on spoiling their baby as if it were my own. Rose looks at me with sad eyes from time to time. She knows about me and Jake trying for a baby, and I know she probably feels bad that she's the one who ended up pregnant. It's not her fault, though. Nobody knew what the last year would hold—it sure spun me for a loop.

A year ago, if someone would've asked me where I'd be in a year, I'd have said right where Rose is. But I'm not. I'm sitting here . . . divorced, single, and not pregnant.

"Hey, baby girl," my mama says, leaning down for a hug. "It's so good to see you out here today. I was just tellin' your daddy how pretty you look," she gushes, and I zone out a bit—nodding my head and smiling. When she gets going, there's no stopping her. I just hope she doesn't say anything too embarrassing. Emmett loves to use things she says against me at later dates.

As my mama starts visiting with the Webers, my eyes drift to a pair of long legs in faded blue jeans. I look a little farther up and see a taut chest squeezed into a gray t-shirt and a familiar head of copper hair. He's definitely not from around here. Even as a married woman, there's no way I could've missed that.

He's laughing at something that Mrs. Cope is telling him, and I see her hand reach out and rest on his strong forearm. The visual causes my mouth to go dry and I swallow hard, trying to ignore the pull I feel toward him.

"Lemonade?" Rose asks, as if she could read my mind.

_God, please don't let her be able to read my mind. She really would go into early labor._

I nod and accept the glass she's offering, tilting it back and draining half of it before I come up for air.

"Thirsty?"

"Yeah, I guess it's all that chicken I ate."

"Uh huh," she says, as she eyeballs me and then looks back over to where the deputy and Mrs. Cope were standing just a few moments ago. I'm disappointed when I see that he's not there. I wasn't finished admiring. Just thinking about the way he looked in those jeans has me squirming.

Up until now, I've only seen him in his uniform, which wasn't bad, but those jeans. _Damn!_

_What the hell's wrong with me?_

_I've got to get a grip!_

"Uh, I'm gonna go bid on one of the pies over at the silent auction," I tell Emmett and Rose, as I stand up quickly. "I'll be right back!"

"Oh, Bella, be a dear and put my name down on your mama's Mississippi Mud Pie!"

"Rose, you know you're not supposed to eat all that sugar!" Em admonishes.

"Excuse me, but are you the one carrying around a Butterball turkey?" Rose starts. I've heard this rant before and I scurry off, before I get caught in the crossfire. If the pregnant lady wants a Mississippi Mud Pie, a Mississippi Mud Pie is what she'll get.

As I'm leaning over the table inspecting the pies and cakes that are up for auction, I feel someone come up beside me. Looking up, I'm greeted with green eyes and a smirk. Something cool hits my arm and I look down to see the good deputy swinging his handcuffs around his finger.

"I hope I'm not going to have to use these today," he says, with as straight of a face as he can muster.

"I don't plan on stealin' any pies."

"That's good, because I'm planning on taking these two home with me," he says, pointing down to my mama's Mississippi Mud Pie and the coconut cream that I had my eye on.

"Well, then you might be usin' those cuffs after all, 'cause I'm afraid I'll have to fight you for 'em," I reply, folding my arms across my chest and making myself as big as I can. It's hard to make five feet three inches look threatening, but I'm giving it my best shot.

"Oh, really? Well, that's a shame. I was really hoping we could start over, maybe even be friends," he says, mimicking my stance.

"Friends, huh?"

"Yeah," he says, smoothly, sticking out his hand for me to shake. "I'm Edward Cullen."

"Edward! Gah, I couldn't remember your name for the life of me!" I confess, laughing as I take his hand and shake it.

"I think if I remember it right, you wanted to give me a nickname."

His smile is blinding me, making it hard to look away and concentrate.

"A nickname?" I manage to get out. I've just about forgotten my _own_ name.

"Yeah, you mentioned _Ed_ or _Eddie_," he says, laughing again and drawing my attention to his incredible smile and his strong jaw.

I laugh, hiding my face in my hands and groaning. "Oh, gosh. Um, I'm really sorry about that and for anything else I did or said last night," I say, cringing at the thought of everything he's witnessed since he met me. I can't believe he's even talking to me. Most people just keep their distance. "You must think I'm crazy."

"Only in the best possible way," he agrees.

"Now you're just bein' nice. In case you haven't noticed, everyone thinks I'm crazy, and not in a good way." I look around and see half the people are watching us, while the other half are pretending not to. "You probably shouldn't hang around me too long. You'll get a bad reputation."

"I think I'll risk it," he replies, winking at me and making my knees feel weak.

"Okay, but you might regret it. Don't say I didn't warn you.

"I'll consider myself warned," he jokes.

Turning back around to the pies, I start to write my bids down on the sheets in front of them.

"Hey, hey! I thought we were friends?" he proclaims, pulling the sheets of paper off the table.

"What?"

"You know I want these pies. Friends don't steal friends' pies!"

"These pies are fair game! If you want them bad enough, you'll have to outbid me," I say, snatching the papers out of his hands and quickly writing down a bid on each.

"Bella Swan," he hums. "Such a pretty name. And, it's so sad that I'm going to have to outbid you," he continues, leaning across me to write his name and bid underneath mine.

"Well, this isn't over yet—it's the highest bidder who wins the pies!"

"I'll remember that," he chuckles. "So, are we just going to stand here and continue to outbid each other for the rest of the picnic, or should we go mingle or something?" he asks, looking around.

"Uh, I guess mingle?" I question him back.

"You're the local. You're supposed to tell me," he says, smiling.

"Yeah, well, in case you haven't noticed, this really isn't my scene."

We both casually walk out from the tent together. I still feel people's eyes on me, but I don't notice it as much with Edward next to me. He makes me forget all sorts of things.

"Yeah, I've noticed."

"It's hard to get revenge and keep a spotless reputation," I sigh.

I feel his eyes on me and look up to see him shaking his head. I can't quite make out the expression on his face, but it's not what I usually get. It's not pity or disgust; for that, I'm grateful.

"So, tell me something about yourself that I don't know," he says, walking toward an empty blanket. The manliness of it tells me that it's his. He motions for me to have a seat, so I do.

"Um, I hardly ever wear dresses," I say, trying to figure out how to sit without showing everything I've got.

"Well, I'm glad you wore one today. You look pretty."

"Thank you." I feel an immediate blush creeping up on my cheeks. Something about the way he said that makes me want to wear one every day. It's been a long time since someone besides my family has given me a compliment, and it feels nice.

"Now I need to know something about you," I say, turning the tables.

"I'm not from here," he answers, looking up at me and squinting due to the bright sun overhead.

"I think I do remember you saying that last night," I reply, trying not to laugh. "Chicago, right?"

"Good job," he says, nodding.

"Well, then, tell me something I don't know," I suggest.

"This is my first church picnic?" he answers, questioningly.

"Nope, you already said that," I push, needing to know more—anything he wants to tell me.

"Like what, then?" he asks.

"I don't know. Tell me about your family, since you already know about mine."

"Well, I'm an only child. My dad's a lawyer and my mom's a philanthropist, which is just a fancy way of saying she volunteers a lot," he laughs. I can tell by his expression that he thinks fondly of them.

"Were they happy about you moving all the way down here?"

"Not happy about the distance, but happy I'd finally decided on what I want to do with my life."

"So, that took you a while?"

"You could say that," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. His forearm catches my attention and, again, my mouth goes dry.

"So, uh, how did you end up here, of all places?" I ask, as I try to distract myself from the uncontrollable reactions I'm having to this man.

"I actually went to school at the University of Texas," he begins.

"I'm sorry about that," I say, sadly.

"What?"

"I'm an Aggies fan," I say, making a horns sign with my hand and turning it upside down.

"An Aggie, huh?" he asks. "Well, we might not be able to be friends, after all. First, it's the pie, and now, it's your poor choice in schools. What's it going to be next? Are you going to tell me you hate action movies? Because that might be a deal breaker."

"I actually love action movies," I reply.

"Really?"

"Yes! Really! I love the adrenaline rush. _Mission Impossible, Bourne Legacy, Die Hard_—anything like that and I'm in!"

"I'll have to keep that in mind," he chuckles, narrowing his eyes as he looks at me. "What else do you like?"

"I love to bake."

"Are you any good at it?"

"Decent," I reply, smiling up at him. "At least everyone else thinks so. I went to school at A&M for business, but when I was finished, I couldn't imagine sitting behind a desk all day, so I opened up a bakery," I say, shrugging. "It's something I've always loved to do, even when I was a little girl."

"I think that's the key—finding something you love to do and figuring out a way to make money at it," he says, taking a drink from a bottle of Coke that was sitting beside him. I watch intently as his lips narrow around the opening, his Adam's apple undulating as the liquid slides down his throat.

Again, my body has a mind of its own and I lick my lips, feeling parched all of a sudden.

"Do you want something to drink?" he asks, holding up a cold bottle from his cooler,

"Sure," I reply.

"Maybe we should go check on our pies and make sure noboyd's outbid us," he suggests, standing up and offering me an outstretched hand.

I take it and allow him to help me stand up. The feel of his hand in mine feels good—warm and gentle.

"So, is being a police officer something you love to do?" I ask, as we walk back toward the tent.

"Yeah, it is. I've always appreciated the law. For a while, I thought that I'd like to follow in my dad's footsteps, but two semesters into law school, I knew it wasn't for me. Like you, I knew I couldn't sit in an office or a courtroom all day."

My steps halt, as I see Jake and Jessica walking into the opposite side of the tent. I knew there was a chance they'd be here, but I'd hoped not.

"What's up?" Edward asks. "Did someone steal your pie?"

I laugh, "Well, I've never heard it put that way, but I guess you could say that."

He must have followed my line of sight because he then asks, "Is that your ex?"

"Yep, that's Jake and Jessica, the most perfect family in Tyler County!"

I watch as they talk to Mike and Lauren Newton, another couple I've known all my life. Jake is being his usual dramatic self, waving his hands around while he tells his story, and Jessica is showing how demure she can be, smiling sweetly as she watches her soon-to-be husband.

I can't help but stare at them like they're some kind of exhibit in a museum. They equally fascinate me and freak me the hell out. Jessica must feel my eyes burning into her because she turns her head my way and catches me watching them. Knowing she has my full attention, she turns back to look at Jake, this time rubbing her swollen belly.

"Fucking bitch!" I mutter before turning on my heel and heading toward where my truck is parked. When I finally reach it, I see that it's completely blocked in by other vehicles. I won't be driving out of here any time soon.

Edward jogs up to me, kicking dirt and gravel everywhere in his haste. "Hey! Why'd you run off like that?"

I tune him out, not ready to talk just yet, and start pacing. So many hateful thoughts, so many hurtful ideas are floating through my mind but I'm trying really hard to ignore them. I don't _want_ to be the town crazy. I don't _want_ to be the pitiful, angry woman with trust issues. I just want to be at peace.

"Edward, unless you feel like arresting me again, I'm going to need you to get me out of here right now."

"Okay, Bella, whatever you need. My truck is right over there where your dad's parked. Let's go." He takes my hand without asking, but I don't fight him. It feels good and it's been too long time since I've had this kind of contact. I'm going to take it while I can.

Edward helps me into his truck and I groan out in frustration as he walks over and gets into the driver's seat. He starts the truck but doesn't put it into drive. Instead, he turns to face me and asks, "Wanna talk about it?"

"No. Yes. I don't know!" I close my eyes tightly and try to regulate my breathing before speaking again. When I feel like I can talk without losing my mind, I answer him. "Yes, I _do_ want to talk. With you being a relative stranger to this town, you'd actually be the perfect person to vent to. That is, if you don't mind listenin'."

"I don't mind at all, Bella. We're friends now, right?" He smiles at me and I have a sudden urge to kiss the word 'friends' out of his vocabulary forever.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I relax my body before I tell him everything. I tell him about the perfect couple Jake and I were in high school and all about our fairytale wedding; then I tell him about our fertility problems. I explain how getting pregnant became our sole focus and that we both neglected the other parts of our relationship. I tell him that I knew things weren't great, but that I was hopeful I'd eventually get pregnant and things would be perfect again, but I was completely blindsided when I found him screwing Jessica in our house.

"Shit, Bella! I had no idea," Edward says, placing his hand on my shoulder and gently rubbing my skin, soothing me.

"When Jessica got pregnant a couple of months later, it was all the proof Jake needed that I was unfit to be his wife. Lawyers were contacted and he immediately moved in with her."

I feel Edward scoot closer, his arm now draped across my shoulders, and he smells so damned good.

"I didn't start acting out just because I was a woman scorned, you know. I did all of those crazy things because I was angry at the injustice of it all. I mean, it's just not fair!" I say louder than I intended. "It's not fair that Jake gets to cheat on me and knock his mistress up and nobody gives a shit! Everyone here turned a blind eye and let him get away with it! Everyone except for my mama and daddy and Rose and Em dropped me like a bad habit. I was treated like an outsider. It was like they knew all along that I wasn't good enough for him."

"You don't believe that, do you?"

I bark out a laugh. "Fuck, no! I mean, I loved Jake but, when you don't get your way all the time, your true colors start showing. His inner asshole came out in full force and my backbone grew to epic proportions. There's no way we would've stayed married. Besides, all the drama's been great for my business. People still buy my cakes and pies but I think they also want to witness me showing my loony side. I've even thought of making my logo say 'Bella's Baked Goods - They're crazy good!'"

Edward laughs along with me, before telling me he's proud of me.

I turn my head to the side with a questioning look on my face. "You are? Why?"

"Because you don't take shit from anyone. You stand up for yourself and you hold your head high. _And_, you walked away today when you could've made a big scene in front of everyone."

Blushing at his words, I joke, "Well, I did think about smashing all of those pies into Jake's and Jessica's faces but that'd be a horrible waste of some delicious pies."

"Don't even joke about that!"

"Ooh, speaking of pies, I need to call Em for a second." I grab my phone from my purse and dial his number. After he assures me that he'll get my mama's pie for Rose, I tell him that Edward's going to drive me home since my truck is blocked in, and Em promises to get it to my house as soon as he can.

"So, now what?" Edward asks.

He might simply be asking me what I want to do right now but the question feels deeper somehow, like there's a hidden meaning behind what he's asking. I know what I _want_ to say, I just don't know if I should.

_Backbone, don't fail me now!_

Our bodies have moved closer without me realizing it and Edward's face is just inches from mine. My eyes lock with his and I whisper, "I don't want to go home."

His eyes soften but he stays quiet, sliding back to his seat and starting the truck.

No words are shared between us as he drives—just quick glances and shy smiles. Chewing on my lip, I wonder if I'm ready for what might happen tonight. I can honestly say that Edward has been the true highlight of my life this past week and there's just something about him that makes me feel hopeful.

The silence is broken when Edward stops his truck at what I assume to be his house.

"Your neighbor's Mr. Miller?" I ask, my mouth gaping open. About a mile up the road, I see Mr. Miller's house and one of my favorite spots in the entire county: his pond.

"I am. That's why your dad had me pick you up the other day; you were right next door." He laughs and I'm utterly entranced by the way his green eyes are dancing.

"You must think I'm a big goof."

"No, I think you're pretty terrific, actually, and I'm hoping you'll let me kiss you."

Stunned beyond belief, I give him a little nod and squeak out, "Okay".

I blink and he's _right there_. His breath washes over me and I close my eyes in anticipation of his lips on mine.

_Holy shit, the man does not disappoint!_

Never, I mean, _never_ have I been kissed like this. Edward's full lips press firmly against mine while his tongue slides inside my mouth, making itself at home. My body is tingling from top to bottom and, if we were standing up, I'd totally have one leg raised up behind me, just like in all those old movies I watched as a kid.

Breathless, Edward whispers into my lips, "Do you want to go inside? We can just talk, if you want.

"Yes, I want to go inside and, no, we've done enough talkin' for one night, I believe."

He pulls back and his eyes are wild and lustful; for a second, I contemplate jumping him right here in his truck. I've fooled around in even smaller vehicles. It can be done.

Hearing the doors unlock is like the gun going off at the beginning of a race. Edward and I both are now frantic as we jump out of the truck and run to his front door. After a few shaky tries, he opens the door and pulls me inside, his mouth instantly finding mine again.

I barely notice when Edward picks me up and carries me to his bedroom. It's only when we're both naked, skin-on-skin, that my senses become fully engaged. Feeling his weight on me, his body so close I can feel his heartbeat on top of mine, unleashes the passion I never knew I had. Once we're completely joined, our bodies move on instinct, knowing exactly where to touch and what to do to bring each other to ecstasy.

Waking up in Edward's arms is confusing. There's a part of me that never wants to leave but it's at war with my insecure side, the side that's telling me to get out while I can, before he wakes up and realizes what a mistake he's made. Insecurity wins and I slide out of bed and throw my clothes on before sneaking out his front door.

I curse myself when I remember that I'm stranded here without a vehicle. I could call Em and ask him to pick me up but it'll be embarrassing enough trying to avoid Edward the next time I'm down at the station. I don't need Emmett knowing what happened and adding to that embarrassment. Looks like my only chance for escape is to walk to Mr. Miller's.

When I reach my favorite pond, I plop down on the bank and take my shoes off. It doesn't take long for the tears to start spilling, running down my cheeks, and falling onto my dress. I cry for my failed marriage and I cry for the stress and disappointment I've forced onto my parents. I cry for the gorgeous man I just left and I cry for the fear that surrounds me.

It could be minutes or hours later, I'm not sure, when I hear a panicked voice calling my name. _Edward_. He must hate me. I slowly stand up and try to prepare myself for his dismissal. He sees me wave and rushes over to me, grabbing onto my arms when he's close enough.

"What are you—why are you here? Why did you leave?" His breath pants on my face and I can't look at him. Shutting my eyes causes more tears to slide down but they're wiped away by strong hands. "Bella, talk to me. What's wrong?"

Still not looking at him, my lips quiver as I admit, "I didn't want to be there when you realized last night was a mistake—that _I'm_ a mistake."

His arms engulf me and he presses my head to his chest. "You're not a mistake, Bella Swan. Last night was perfect, and so are you.

"Edward, I'm far from perfect and, believe me, you don't want to be linked to my crazy."

"Well, I think you're pretty perfect—for me, anyway—and I kinda like your crazy. Besides, why do you think I always have my cuffs out when I'm with you?" He laughs into my hair before kissing it.

I laugh and wrap my arms around his waist, holding him tightly. "I can think of a much better use for those cuffs, you know."

"I have no doubt, but how about we get some breakfast first? I have a feeling I'm going to need to keep my energy levels up to be able to keep up with you."

"You got that right, Deputy."

We kiss, and it's patience, acceptance, hope, and more—it's everything.

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